


Sunny Days

by wordsandshit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Teen!Dean, kid!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsandshit/pseuds/wordsandshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is never easy for Dean; from his mother's death, to his father's alcoholism, brother's running away and fiance leaving him. But in all these moments in his life the sun shines brightly and his angel comes to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how long I'm going to make this badboy, but I plan of having Cas visit at least four times. So probably chapter wise, somewhere in there.  
> It's only been beta'd by myself, but if you come across any mistakes, big or small just let me know. Though do try to allow for my writing style.  
> In this chapter Dean is about four, the same age he was in the canon when Mary died.

The day of the funeral was bright and sunny, which to Dean seemed completely unfair and cruel. The whole week had been bright and sunny, not a cloud in the too blue Kansas skies to mark the day. He could remember sitting on the hood of the Impala and looking up at the sunrise as sirens still blared and thinking how horribly beautiful it was. His mother was dead, gone forever; the least the world could do was mourn her.

But more than anything, Dean wanted it to be over. 

The funeral was numbing, the service inadequate and the church stifling. He couldn’t see how listening to an old man talk for what seemed like hours honoured his mother’s memory. She was a warm hug, she was apple pie and a smile. She wasn’t a dusty church and overused prayers.

After the entire town came to him one by one and gave their condolences. John told him that meant they were sorry for what had happened and were there for him and the family. Dean was pretty sure it meant that they felt obligated to say something to the broken family and wanted to feel better themselves. 

Dean stared out the window at the garden which his mother had loved so much and wondered how long it would take before all the plants died. Just like her.

He wanted out of the itchy, too small suit he’d been stuck into and to just lock himself in his room. He wanted all these strangers to leave his house. To stop acting like it was okay that she had died just upstairs and that a casserole would suddenly make everything better. He wanted his mom.

Dean could smell his father enter the kitchen before he heard him. He was sour with the scent of whiskey, it masking his usual smell of the garage and Mary. No one said anything, because these were good folk and that was just rude, but everyone could smell it.

John placed a hand on the boy’s small shoulder, searching for something to say. Even after nearly a week, he had no idea. “Hey buddy, how you holding up?” Dean didn’t answer, because even a four year old could tell that was the stupidest question in the world. John sighed, “Yeah, I know. Hey, Mrs. Wilson brought some apple pie, you want some?”

“No.”

“Aww common,” John said with a forced smile. “I think we have some icecream in the freezer. We can cut you up a-” 

“No! I don’t want any of Mrs. Wilson’s stupid pie!” Dean shrieked, looking up at his father. His bright eyes were filled to the brim with tears, but he refused to cry in front of all these people, all of which had gone silent. “I want Mommy’s pie!”

John’s face broke and he struggled to hold it together as his son did. “I know Dean, but-”

“I want Mommy!” He cried again and now baby Sammy who had been sleeping in the other room joined in. Everyone else was silent and still, as if breathing too loud would throw Dean into a fit.

John reached out to hug his son, do something to calm his down but he was batted away. Dean stared at the mass of people in his livingroom and then back at his father, lower lips quivering. He stood up, and gave a look daring anyone to try and stop him as he ran out of the kitchen and through the garden. 

He ran down the path that he had helped his dad make for his mum, across the street that she had held his hand as he crossed, through the park where she pushed him on the swings and into the trees they had played hide and seek in. He tripped every few minutes, breaking holes into the knees of his pants, dirt caking into his sleeves. In a flurry of tears he found himself at Crawford Lake where the four of them had had a picnic last month. 

Three sides of the lake were surrounded by tall grey stone, perfect for jumping; the third side acted as a beach, gradually getting deeper. The whole area was surrounded by dark trees that kept it shaded and protected from the blaring sun. 

Dean pulled off his clothes until he was just in his boxers, letting them lay where they landed. He continued on the steady pace he had set for himself until the cool water was up to his chin, calming him. It felt good on his hot and flustered skin as he dunked his head and stayed under until his lungs burned. When he came back up he was surprised to see a man staring at him.   
He wore a suit not unlike the one Dean had discarded with deep blue tie and tan trench coat. He must have been broiling. He stood under one of the larger trees, covered in the shadow though hardly hiding. He watched Dean with curious eyes, head slightly cocked to one side.

After a moment of hesitation Dean swam over to the shore and climbed out of the water, shaking off before approaching the stranger. He seemed weirdly familiar, though Dean couldn’t for the life of him remember where he had seen him. Maybe at the funeral.

“Hello Dean.” the man said once Dean entered the shade of the tree.

“How do you know my name?” he accused.

The man looked almost sad for a moment, but it slowly faded and he straightened. “I have known you for quite a long time.”

“You know my mom and dad?” Dean edged closer.

“No,” the stranger’s voice was low and rough, though not at all mean or uninviting. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting either, though from what I hear they are lovely people.”

“Were.” Dean corrected harshly, “My mom’s dead.”

The man looked sympathetic and after seeing a sea of “sympathetic” faces, he seemed the most honest. “I know. That is why I am here.”

Dean took another step closer, “You aren’t gonna say you’re sorry?”

“I will if you want me to. Though I do not see what that will accomplish.” 

Dean came closer still and now he could see the man in full detail. From a distance he seemed so put together, but up close he could now see that his tie wasn’t the right way, his suit was wrinkled, lips chapped, hair messy and stubble covered his face. He mostly looked tired, though the power radiating off him was undeniable.

“So, if you aren’t here to say sorry, why are you here?”

The man seemed to think for a long moment, the sound of crickets and bull frogs filling the silence. “I’m here to talk to you.”

“‘Bout?”

“We’ll see.”

“Why?”

He chuckled, as if remembering an inside joke, “You still question everything don’t you? I am what you might call,” he paused, “your guardian angel.”

Dean looked at him annoyed, because if his mother’s death had taught him one thing, it was that no matter how many times you said it, angels were not watching over him. They didn’t exist. “No you ain’t.”

“I am Dean, and I know this is hard for you to believe, but I am.”

“Then prove it.”

He smiled again, like he was remembering something, like how John did when he thought about Mary and how she yelled at him or would sing out of tune. It was a smile Dean didn’t understand because he was too young to see how sad memories could be happy too.

The supposed angel walked out into the sunlight and gestured to the ground. Attached to his shadow a pair of large wings unfurled. Dean stared at it for a couple beats, mouth agape. When he looked up he found the matching pair of feathery wings defying the many layers of clothes and protruding from the stranger’s back. The man looked as surprised as Dean as he walked over and without thinking reached out to stroke a black feather. The wing jerked back a little, causing a soft rustle. 

“You can see them. Interesting.”

“S-sorry.” Dean spluttered as he watched in fascination as the wings curled slightly around the two of them.

The angel smiled slightly. “It’s alright. Just, that not many people can see any part of my true form and I did not expect you to be one that could.”

“Oh.” Dean said stupidly, mouth still ajar, unable to think of what to say.

“So now that I have proven that I am a genuine angel, can we talk?” 

Dean nodded and with a light hand between his now dry shoulder blades he was lead back into the shade. They sat together, the angel’s wings further curling to accommodate. Dean shuffled around to find a comfortable way to seat his bare legs against the rough rocks and dirt. The angel snapped and he was fully dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. Dean grinned his gappy smile up at him and crawled closer.

For the next few hours the two of them talked. The angel seemed intent on talking, though he didn’t seem to mind what about. Mostly Dean did the talking, only needing a few questions here and there to keep him going. He talked about everything from school, to his new brother Sammy, to his mom’s death. The angel would laugh where appropriate, seeming thoroughly interested no matter the topic.

After the first hour or so Dean took to stroking the angel’s wings, playing with the dusty black feathers. Occasionally they ruffled or the man would make a small sound, but otherwise he seemed rather content.

Dean stared out onto the water and yawned. He was nestled between the angel’s side and his wing, softly telling a story of when his mom took him to this beach and played with him in the water. The sky was now a bright pink as the sun set and the exhaustion of the day was settling on him.

“You should go home, your father must be worried sick.”

He scoffed, “He doesn’t care about me.”

“Dean,” the angel said sternly, “Your father loves you very much, think back to all those stories you told me. He wants nothing more than the best for you.”

Dean looked down at his lap, “Maybe.”

He tilted the boy’s small chin up with a rough hand and his deep blue eyes bore through him. “I know things are very difficult for you right now and I will not lie to you, they won’t magically get better. But no matter what happens you are strong. Please remember.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, though the word’s meaning were mostly lost on him and even what he understood he didn’t totally believe. 

“Good. Now I must say goodbye.”

The angel started to move but Dean tugged on his coat. “Wait! Will I see you again?”

“One day, yes.”

He was hardly satisfied, but slowly he let his grip on the coat lesson. The angel gave him one last smile before lightly laying two fingers to his forehead. When Dean awoke he was in his bed, John asleep in the chair in the corner. 

He sat up and looked around. It was completely dark now and he was in his pajamas, suit hung up neatly and intact on the back of the door. He wondered if he had just fallen asleep and it had all been a dream. He sighed, a sob nearly making its way to his throat when he laid back down. 

He rolled over to find a single black feather on his pillow. A feather belonging to his angel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the newest installment. I wasn't sure exactly if I wanted one where he was younger between this and the first, but I think I like it. Here Dean is fourteen and although it's not said in the actual chapter, it's the anniversary of Mary's death (or rather the day before).

Dean stared out over the water, back against the hard trunk of a tree and knees clutched to his chest. He ran a hand over his face and found his it wet, he hadn’t even realised he had been crying. The sun rose over the horizon, pink and orange reflecting over the still lake and reminding Dean just how long he had sat there. He cleared his throat and stood, body aching its complaints from not moving for so long. 

He turned and was about to head back to - hell he didn’t even know where - when he heard the rustle of wings and crunch of the rough stones that made up the beach. “Dean,” a familiar, gravely voice murmured, hardly even loud enough to hear.

Dean slammed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. No. He wasn’t real, he was just a manifestation of childhood grief and imagination. It had been ten years and he wasn’t going to believe in angels anymore. A hand was placed on his shoulder and he spun around. There standing, way too close, was his- the angel. He looked exactly the same as Dean remembered, if not a little smaller. The same tan trench coat, the same backwards tie and tired look. The only difference was he no longer had his large black wings sprouting from his back.

“I must be going fucking crazy.” Dean muttered to himself.

“I assure you, you are not going crazy.”

“Well that’s easy for you to say, you’re a figment of my imagination.”

“Dean please, I’m here to help.”

Dean’s blood ran cold and he stared at the stranger he had just been slapped. “Help? You’re here to help?” He scoffed and the blood started to flow again, this time red hot. He chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his short hair. “You’re here to help!? Where the hell were you when I saw my mom die, or had to carry my baby brother out of the house because we might die?” A single tear streaked down his face and he took a deep, shaky breath. “Where were you when it got so bad that I had to lock us in the bathroom or else my dad would have killed us? Where were you when I had to clean up the mess that was my own father?” The man opened his mouth to say something, but he was hesitant and Dean was angry. “No. You don’t exist and you’re not an angel. An angel wouldn’t let this happen.”

The man trained his gaze down onto a pebble with an orange hue, unable to look the boy in the eyes. He looked absolutely wrecked and real or not Dean was happy for it. He turned to leave because it was getting dangerously into the hours of morning and Sammy needed to go to school. He made it the edge of the clearing that made up the lake and beach when he was stopped by a soft plead.

“I am sorry.” His rough voice was broken and pained, as if every word took a chunk out of the man’s soul. “I know it means nothing to you, but I am. I tried my best, I always have. But I am sorry that once again it is not good enough. I am sorry that I have failed you.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to such a broken apology, to the angel he had waited for for years. He could feel his eyes trained on him, but he was still just a kid and he had no idea what to do. After a moment of stillness, only a soft breeze and his breathing filling the void, he started back along the path. 

He wanted desperately to look back, to reassure himself that it had all been real. But honestly he was too afraid that he would see that broken angel and know it was. Instead as he made his way back home he pushed the whole experience into the giant box that filled up most of his mind marked, Never ever under any circumstances open.

It was edging on six in the morning, Sam would need to be woken up soon. In the mean time Dean started cleaning up the piles of empty beer cans, broken glasse and vomit. Once the house was passable again he watched Sam sleep for a few minutes. He knew it was super rape-y of him, but after everything, after ten fucking years of this hell, he needed some assurance that it was worth it and everything would be okay. 

He didn’t find much. Instead he could see the blossom of a bruise developing along his baby brother’s cheek and he supposed that he’d have similar as well. 

Dean took a deep breath to calm his nerves before throwing a stray boot that lay on the younger Winchester’s floor at him. “Up and adam Sammy!”

Sam groaned, rolling over. “God you’re such an ass.”

He chucked, “Damn straight.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, these babies keep getting shorter and shorter. The last chapter will just be "And they had sex, The End" (except I'm actually not planning on sex for this one).  
> So for this one I didn't know exactly when Sam ran away, so I guessed somewhere in sixteen, which makes Dean nineteen, twenty.   
> The next one should be longer.

Dean paced the shore, running his hands over his face. This was stupid. He had been alternating burning a hole in the gravel in the beach and staring at the midday sun for over half an hour and he still hadn’t accomplished anything. Sam had been missing nearly a week and he still had no clue where he was. He sighed and looked down at his feet, stupid or not, this might be his only shot.

He chewed on his lower lip and shifted his weight, finally closing his eyes. “Um...Angel, who I don’t even know the fucking name of, you there? I’m not sure if I’m even doing this right, but I was just wondering if you could, you know, fly you feathery ass down here. Got sort of an emergency.” He waited in silence, trying to peak through his eyelashes. “Common, I’m begging here. I really need your help. Please.” He waited another minute before growling, “Fucking typical.”

He turned to head back home when he heard the familiar sound of wings behind him. “It’s Castiel.”

Dean faced his angel, “What?”

“My name, it’s Castiel.”

“Castiel.” the younger man tried, seeing how it rolled off his tongue, it somehow fit in his mouth easily, though it was kinda long and weird. “Well now that that’s out of the way, I need your help.” Castiel looked weary, as if already expecting the request to be unobtainable. “Sammy, my brother, he took off. And...” he paused and took a moment to compose himself. “And I need help finding him.”

He took a step closer tentatively, “Of course. I will do everything in my power.”

“Thanks,” he sighed with relief, even in his mind Dean didn’t expect any help from the angel, not after last time. “I just...I don’t know who else to turn to. As pathetic as this is, you’re all I got. Please, we gota find him.”

Castiel nodded and with a rustle he was gone, returned less than a minute later, “He’s in Flagstaff Arizona, 342 Westminster street, apartment six. You should be able to reach him by tomorrow morning if you hurry.” He smiled at the boy, seeming far more tired than before.

“Thanks Cas.” The angel grinned and Dean cocked a brow, “What?”

“I just, like the nickname.”

“Dude you are so weird.”


	4. Chapter 4

The familiar whoosh air beat against Dean’s back and he swallowed hard. “Right now really isn’t a good time Cas.”

“Perhaps I can help in some way.” the deep voice offered.

He looked up at the angel and from sitting on the ground he seemed to tower infinitely. Suddenly Dean was that four year-old boy again, clutching onto a dirty trench coat and praying for the angel to make everything better. Except he was twenty-six and knew that nothing could make anything better.

He took a long swig from the nearly empty bottle of Jack he had brought with him, full at the time. “There’s nothing to help. I’m perfectly fine so you can just go to wherever the fuck you go when I’m not in crisis.” He stood on wobbly legs. “Where do you go? Because it seems that no matter how much you want to help after the fact, when the battle’s actually underway you’re nowhere to be seen. What’s that about?”

“You’re drunk. Perhaps you should sit down again.”

“Perhaps you should shut the fuck up. You answer my questions first.” Dean shook the bottle in the other man’s direction. “Like, why me? What’s so fucking special about me that you feel you gota pop in every few years and...and I don’t even know what you do. ‘Cause mostly it seems you stare at me and look like a lost puppy.”

“I...You...” Castiel licked his chapped lips, searching for the words. “I knew you, in another life. We were...friends. When I found you here I felt the need to watch over you, but my powers are limited, very limited. There is no magic in this world, no heaven for me to connect to. I can not help you in the ways I wish I could. I have tried not to intrude on your life, but sometimes...Sometimes I can not help myself. Sometimes you are in pain and I need to reach out.”

The angel’s confession took Dean aback, sobering him up some. It was hard enough for him to believe that angels existed, now he was expected to think that there were other worlds, other universes which had magic and other Deans. It was all just way to Sci-Fi for his blood. 

“So let me get this straight, you were from some alternate universe and in it there was magic and angels and then somehow you got zapped over here and into my life? Why not just zap back home?”

“I can not, without my full powers I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Besides, I find this world preferable at the moment.”

“Wow, watching my fucked up life is preferable to being home. Other Dean must really suck.”

“He was the greatest man I have ever known.” Cas bit back, a little harsher than either was expecting.

The two men just stared at one another for what seemed like forever until Dean finally broke it because damn it, he couldn’t look at the anguish in the deep blue eyes anymore. He downed the remainder of the whiskey and leaned back against the tree, back of his head meeting it with a thump. 

“I am sorry.” the angel murmured.

He slid down the trunk of the tree until he was sitting, bottle in his lap. “Yeah yeah, I know. Now common, park your ass down.”

Castiel hesitated and although Dean had long since closed his eyes he could feel the angel’s on him. Finally stones crunched and there was a warm thigh pressed against his own. Part of him wanted to jerk away -hadn’t this guy heard of personal space before- but he refrained to save himself from another heart wrenching puppy dog look. Sam might have some competition. 

“So tell me about your- the other Dean.” He angled himself to better face Castiel, but not so much that he couldn’t look at the scenery.

“He,” Cas frowned in thought, finding a place to begin. “He was very much like you, stubborn, resourceful, hardworking, loyal and caring. He put on this persona for the world, but if you were very lucky you could catch glimpses of who he really was. He hunted creatures that tried to hurt people, averted the end of the world too many times to count and saved my life even more.” He was looking at Dean, though he his gaze was beyond, into nothing. “He was the greatest friend I could ask for.”

“Is he...I mean did he die?”

Castiel looked down, nodding faintly. “Yes. His soul was lost to me, and my search for it found me here. With you.”

They sat in sorrowful silence until Dean broke it, looking over past the water and the tree, to the sun that lit up the clear Kansas skies. “Her name’s Lisa. We’ve been -had been- dating for just over a year. She’s...perfect. Funny, pretty, understanding of all my fucked up shit, everything I could ever want. I knew she wanted me to propose for a long time, but I was scared. As you probably already know, I’m not very good with emotions. She said she didn’t care, but I just knew I would end up hurting her, or worse. So I held off, I tried breaking it off a few times when I had a few mental breakdowns. But she always took me back with open arms and a shoulder to cry on. Until she didn’t. Until I proposed and she decided that I was too broken. I guess she was understandably sick of all of it. So here I am, with a useless ring, empty bottle of scotch and angel no better off than me.” Cas opened his mouth and Dean flashed a glare his way. “And if you said you’re sorry so help me God I will find a way to gank your holy ass. What’s done is done. So instead we drink and we forget.”

“The patented Dean Winchester way.” he mused.

Dean cracked a smile, “Exactly.”

Suddenly Castiel was holding a fresh bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured them each out a glass and handed Dean his, raising his own. “To being broken.”

“Here here.”

Glasses clinked, whiskey sloshed and new friends laughed. 

They both stared out into nothing, hidden from the world in the shade of a tree, deep in thought. At some point idle talk of memories or thoughts to fill the summer air turned into conversation. Castiel was in the middle of explaining their first meeting when Dean found himself entranced by the angel’s lips as he spoke, hardly even listening to the story. A soft pink tongue slid out and achingly slow ran across his lips and Dean, without even thinking, mimicked the action. Cas was just getting into Other Dean’s exact expression when he first saw the angel’s wings when he was cut off my Current Dean’s lips. 

The kiss began as a firm press of the lips, eyes screwed shut, but slowly each man softened and the kiss followed suit. Dean’s lips were soft and inviting, Castiel’s rougher but far more submissive. The other man’s tongue easily slid between parted lips and Dean could barely contain his moan from the taste. The angel tasted like the whiskey, but beyond that was a deep and rich sweetness, like fresh warm honey. 

With a soft groan from the other man Dean was snapped back into reality. He was kissing a fucking angel, a fucking angel dude, who might not even be entirely real. No less than a day after breaking up his longest relationship ever. What the hell was wrong with him!? He broke off the kiss, stepping back from Castiel’s embrace. 

“I...I just can’t.” he looked down, unable to handle the hurt and sad look coming from the other man. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Before he could screw up anything any further, or let Cas say something that might convince him to stay Dean took off down the path to home and locked himself in his room. He blasted AC-DC tried to scrub clean any thoughts of his angel and soft lips.


End file.
